Burned Bridges

At this point in my life,
i feel the need to harverst these fields of corn that surround.
My harvest lost at the price of maturity.
But these remains that I've left to rot will be resurrected
again and again by the next generation
of children who want to change minds with the stationed hand.
But I'm not the only one who sees
it lies in diversity; acceptance only to a degree.
The fire that once occupied my eyes
has crawled to destroy the world that I have grown. There's nothing new to scream beyond these fields
and not a second of patience to learn from them.
But you're Resurected again and again.
I harvest the crops of my past.
As far as the demigods are concerned,
I've sold myself out, out just the same.
I've burned the bridges to feign brothers.
Nothing more than a simple label,
nothing more than a simple.
Here I reside, the edge after all
to prove to myself that i still am,
but within these fields, they'll say I never was.